You Know What Burns My Ass

You know what burns my ass when I say that coffee causes hemorrhoids. You are there all day in the Chinese Canadian cafe waiting to meet a friend to talk to about dick-all really, reading yesterday's paper, discovering innovative ways of getting a tacky piece of nose-pick off your finger, sitting on non-breathing vinyl, drinking weak coffee by the gallon, eating all day breakfast all day, building up acid gas pressure, and, well, something has gotta give and usually it's the inner wall of your ass. And there is no side effect warning on the side of the cup that says drinking coffee and sitting on vinyl for eight hours will cause hemorrhoids to swell and swell and transform until an ostrich grows out of your ass and the Chinese Canadian waitress lady will mock you saying, "You want seeds for your ostrich, that extra, too". And then the very unkind burn of, "Ostrich like you, only you bury your head in booth (laugh, laugh, laugh). More coffee as life pass you by, Mr. Zookeeper?"
Then you must think about the ying-yang of thoughts coming out the ying-yang. Suppose an ostrich can run 30 mph and carry a man on its back. But also suppose that a giant bird, pecking your head and poking in and out and in and out of your asshole all day long, making it necessary to re-wipe your punched out asshole every half-hour, is bothersome; and would you ride your ass-parts in public or compete in an ass-parts race across the desert; and would you name your ostrich after yourself - that would be 'Vein'. And, golly, coffee is good for stimulating thoughts, but do you want to put up with a flightless bird in your ass big enough to kick the shit out of you no matter how helpful that may be. Sure, thoughts are your life, but thoughts can only take you so far, but an ostrich, that is something else to consider especially with the price of gas soaring. Perhaps something should be done. Perhaps, they should heat the vinyl seats. Perhaps when the bill comes, alongside the mint and toothpick is a suppository. Or at the very least come up with a coffee that does not result in such large eggs.

NY Giants vs Washington Redskins

NFL Sunday November 30, 2008 ... NY Giants vs Washington Redskins ... Today the Washington Redskins and their fans, in a heart-felt tribute, honoured the memory of #21 Sean Taylor who was shot dead in his home in Miami last year. Oddly, NY Giants player #17 Plaxeco Burress, who was not scheduled to play today due to a hamstring injury, shot himself in the thigh with a unlicensed gun on Saturday while at a nightclub. Today, it is not understood how Burress' criminal act honours Sean Taylor's memory. Today, it is not understood if Burress had been able to attend Taylor's induction into the Redskin's Ring of Honor, would Burress have reflected on the fact he had jeopordized the safety of others by having a gun. What remains, today, is that Burress is fortunate to be alive to come to the conclusion he cheapened Taylor's memory by not respecting how Taylor died.

Plenty of Horn (revised)

Did you hear about the MacKenzie girl? Heather, the oldest, blond, pleasant, rather big bum? You know that after graduating from Springer last year, she went to Africa to work with World Youth for Raising Awareness. I told you that. Well, just before she was to return last month, she went on safari with her Uncle Ron. You know Ron Harris, cultural attache to the Romanian Consulate in Spain, drinks, when he exhales, his nose whistles. Anyway, I have some bad news. It seems little Heather, while taking pictures, wandered away from the safari group, wearing an iPod thing, a lone white female out on the African plain, big bum, and a rogue Rhino charged up behind and ravaged her. It was a nasty shock. She said the worst part was she didn't see it coming. Fortunately, Ron did. Caught it on all video. Practically buckets of the stuff. Amazing. Talk about your dry hump. It ends up those leather skinned rhinos have poor vision and are highly excitable so most of it ends up in her hair. It's on the Youtube. What would we do without technology? You know Ron's a terrible sketch artist. His strong suit is sunsets. Rhinos ............... Anyway, poor darling Heather is home for the season recovering. Visit, just don't ask if she had a good time in Africa and for Christ's sake don't ask if she saw any wild animals. Bit of a sore spot with her still.

Ode-d'ur (Rough Cut)

Ah, Hell, I remember it all too well.
It has a fishy smell,
You've heard this before
And you know there's more
No soap will wash away,
Its redolent bouquet
Attending to her charms
As I hold her in my arms
She asks me to think of love
And consider her my little dove
I panic and try to run
But the smell of which I make fun
Fills my nose, transforms my thought
I soon forget what I fraught
So when she asks to reply
'Do you love me 'til I die?
I stammer 'I am yours forever'
Because Hell is very clever
Instead of seeing it as a trap
And recall I am such a sap
Its odour defeats my weak will
(You'd think the smell'd make you ill
Yet I ponder, Is that krill or oyster grill?)
And then though crazed I hold her longer
Encourage the smell to grow stronger
Instead of heeding danger
And this is even stranger
I adjust my hold and then I dare
To go and slide my finger there

'As dreams are made on, and our little life',
Since the dawn, it has caused man strife,
Below the mountains, in the valley
Sometimes mossy, sometimes shorn
Oddly, it's where a baby's born
It has many names
One's not James,
If I may be blunt,
And be up front,
Today those in the know
Call it a camel toe.

The rest is all blah, blah, blah
And then there is the la-de-dah
She entices me to go til I am drained
The quicker finished the less the strain
A thought flits 'cross my mind
I think I may be in a bind
I feel a foreboding
My mind is unloading
Something about a promise to be hers
Oh, my vision blurs
My being, it demurs
I'm slipping into the abyss
This is post-coital bliss
She says I really mattered
Really I feel flattered
Any mention of a dread
And she will turn in the bed
And her words will interrupt me
From my dreams of the perfect peace
My deep, deep, sleep.

City Birdie

City Birdie

City birdie you have such fun
Flitting, twitting in the morning sun
You splish you splash all a flutter
Playing in the cobbled gutter

I watch you from my comfy bed
I love to feed you doughy bread
Happily you madly hop about
You bathe under a water spout

I'm happy to see you day in day out
But you are trouble without a doubt
And even though I am bemused
Your antics make me tres confused

City bird you build your home
A bit of string, a dirty comb
A used rubber, a filthy sock
Maybe even a piece of rock

Birdie would I have you as a pet?
Is this something I would regret?
Even though your sweet peep, peep
Would comfort me to deep, deep sleep

Should I share my bed with a city bird?
Should I have a pet way less absurd?
'though it may poop on the floor,
A cuddly doggie I could adore

We'd pack a bag and leave the core
Visit the mountains and the shore
We'd cozy together in a little tent
Not huddle by a noisy in-take vent

And if a robber did b. n. e.
Doggie would protect wee me
Doggie would attack and bite
Not just shit, then take flight

Doggie I can walk to keep us in shape
Birdie needs no mutual escape
Birdie needs to spread its wings
Doggie looks to me for things
Birdie I love you go your indie way
But you use the street as your dinner tray
And though doggie's only words are arf, arf, arf
Doggie does not feed its kids puked up hobo barf.

So as I end my juxtapose
I’m reminded of a pretty rose
Its lovely scent will make you quiver
Its thorn leaves a painful sliver

So you fly away, you who is in control
I give up on your cursed indie soul
Life is much more than squawking from a tree
I need Doggie cuz Doggie needs me

Nuts

This is one of my favourite stories. My Uncle Hugh told it to me when I was about seven. In our family, he was the one you called upon to be the MC at weddings, that sort of fun loving, hard drinking, chain smoking, kind of guy. He lied about his age to get into World II. He ended up in the RAF as a navigator and flew on missions during the Battle of Britain.
After the war he earned a degree in engineering from University of Toronto, graduated in the top ten of his class. He could remember millions of stories, lymerics, and jokes. Much to the chagrin of my mother, he would entertain my two brothers and me at family get-togethers with stories such as this one. This is one of my favourite stories, his too. If you've heard it before, to quote my clever Uncle in prefacing a story, "If you've heard it before, I don't care, I like this story and I want to hear it again."

One dark and stormy night ..... a salesman from the city traveling through the countryside gets a flat tire ...... As chance would have it, he happens to stop outside the gates of an Asylum for the Criminally Insane. It is raining very hard and this, coupled with being late for a meeting, causes him to rush changing the tire. The work is tough going in the slippery mud. The thunder is startling, but even more jolting is that a flash lightning reveals just inside the high fence of the institute an inmate is standing under a tree smoking a pipe. Anxious to get away from the inmate's intense stare, the salesman frantically changes the tire. He is almost done when he slips in the mud and accidentally kicks the lug nuts down a storm drain.
The situation being hopeless, the frustrated salesman walks up to the fence to ask the inmate if he could use a phone.
The inmate calmly asks, "Why do you want to use the phone."
Humouring the pipe-puffing lunatic, the salesman replies, "Well, I would like to use the phone to call a tow truck."
"Why do you want to call a tow truck?" invokes the inmate.
It is pouring rain; the salesman is soaked through. He is infuriated by the inmate's lack of cooperation.
"Listen, you stupid nut-bar, I haven't time to stand here playing twenty questions with you. Get them to let me in so I can call a tow truck"
The inmate gives a quick puff on his pipe and with a concerned look answers, "It seems like calling a tow truck this time of night might be a waste of time. Besides I think I can help you."
The inmate taps his pipe out on his boot-heel and coolly packs it with fresh tobacco.
"You can help, how so?"
Through the iron bars the inmate explains, "Well, the problem is you can't get the tire changed because you lost the lugs nuts that hold the tire on the car.
"Yes", the salesman interjects impatiently.
"Mine is a simple solution that will save you the time it takes to wait for a tow truck and this solution will also save you the cost of a tow truck."
"O.K. I'm all ears," the salesman responds skeptically.
"The problem is you're short the lug nuts to keep the tire on the car. So here's what you do. Go around the car and take one lug nut off each of the other three tires and then the four tires tire would then end up having three lug nuts each. That should be enough to hold you to drive to the service station to get your flat fixed."
The salesman is stunned and humiliated by the inmate's solution. In surrender he offers, "That's amazing, how did you figure that out?"
"Well, my good friend," replied the inmate as he light up his pipe, "In here we may be crazy, but we're definitely not stupid."
The salesman smiles sheepishly.
"Have a nice day." And the inmate turns and walks away leaving the salesman in the soaking rain. Suddenly, a crack of thunder, and in the flash of lightning the bewildered salesman witnesses the inmate cackle manically as he heads back to the institution on the hill.

My New Love

My New Love: The Poem - Episode 4 – “A Journey”.

While very young and in church
The whole world I would besmirch,
I would drift away, think any thought
Anything, but hear what the Father taught

While a youth bored in class, to kill the time,
A waft away from the sublime.
Of my first love I would in repose,
Dream of her, recall her beauty, big finger to my nose.

A woman’s love, it smothers
In spite of what they say, alas she washed away, then many others
I drank, and drugged and I lost my way
“He’s no life,” my few friends would say

Jobs and chances, I wasted plenty,
Did a dime in San Clemente
(There I learned all about dope
And never, never drop the soap)

My luck all gone, my misery deepened
I became withdrawn, my depression steepened
At the end, on a dark Sunday night
I ventured towards the greatest light
There the light did shine as though twas day
It wasn’t heaven, but grown men did play
They cared not their youth was done
I could see they were having fun

I joined in, ran hard, my muscles burned
And soon my inner strength returned
It was not the tunnel I went down
I joined a sport that is renown

I went home, full of life, hardly slept,
So full of joy I nearly wept
A simple thing to play a game
The benefits are there to gain

Pride restored, I got some work
I was hired as an office clerk
I treat all as my fine brothers
I work hard, I do good unto others

To confess I’m still bored at a meeting
Now, to ward off appearing fleeting
I keep my eyes glued on the speaker
Smile and nod as though I’m meeker
I sneak my big finger along my lip
Breath in as though to catch a drip
Then I simply conjure up my new love,
From the lingering smell of my lacrosse glove

Sands of Time

It rains a lot here in Vancouver where I live, but imagine living in the Sudan and looking outside the tent flap and seeing all this sand blowing everywhere, day after day, and saying to your buddys who dropped by and are having a chuff, "I wonder when the sand will stop?"
And because maybe you've all been trapped indoors for too long and everyone's starting to get tent fever, and so little things seem funny, and besides the chuff is primo, one of your buddys says in reply, "Ya, my hour glass has a crack in it and all this sand blowing in sure makes the days longer". And you all chuckle, have a chuff, and go back to staring out the flap at the sand blowing.
"Fuckn sand", says a buddy.
"Good thing we're not using hour glasses anymore," says another buddy, "Somebody by now would have come up with a 'day glass' - 24 hours of sand. A little crack in the glass and soon the room would be full of sand and then you'd have to shovel out today and shovel it out all day long to make room for tomorrow cuz you know for sure tomorrow's comin. And shovelled outside the tent, piles upon piles of yesterdays. And the tomorrows are stored in one of those big cone shaped structures just off the road. And maybe there was a mix up. During a snow storm, the road crews go to the wrong building and all the tomorrows are sprinkled on the highway and where would the future be?"
And you all have a collective deeply contemplative chuff cuz that was a heavy thought. Then, after a gap in time, other buddy says dryly, "I was thinking, I'd hate to be getting a 'tomorrow' in my ass crack."
And you all have a chuckle and a chuff and go back to staring out the flap at the sand blowing and wondering.

I am a fool

Never has life been so exciting. So many little things are being done, impossible to organize by one person; it seems there must be two, three or more people involved; everything is done perfectly as though the people involved know exactly what needs to be done to make everything fit. All the items to be fitted can be described succinctly and appear on a parts list as unique items, items of no relevance to each other. Yet, all items are to be connected to each other, and, at a point, each depends on the other.
Arranging the items in list form makes it easy to organize them, yet impossible to show how important they are to each other. One part, Item 113, is described as "Facing Bevel Gear"; however, there is no complementary shaft. Another item on the list, Item 017, exists, it seems, because there are 16 items before it and it is needed to include items 018-204. Item 017 is described as a "Spacer".
The instructions for putting the parts together were not shipped. In fact, it appears the object to be constructed wont be determined until all the pieces are put together. Since all parts are unique, it seems the completed object would be unique. And this is my first time experiencing such a project; everything I have done before this, in one way or another, has been done before.
So far I am having trouble imagining if Item 001 is suppose to be connected to Item 002. Upon attempting, the impression is it is not. It is impossible to see if any parts cause any others to move. Further, the parts cannot be seen as part of something that has a wide range of motion or is for accurate mannipulation.
The parts came in a simple container. It's not how they arrived that matters*; what is interesting is that immediately after it was delivered another simple container (marked "Alternates") arrived. The "alternates" are also organized on a list. The conclusion is the "alternates" are parts of something unimaginable as well.
Further to this, it is impossible to rule out the parts in Box A and Box B were designed not to fit together. However, so far the desideratum is the discovery of the function of the parts of the two containers.

*This conclusion will undoubtedly need to be re-evaluated.